


Morning

by neevebrody



Category: Dawson's Creek, Thoughtcrimes
Genre: Crossover, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-10
Updated: 2008-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He blinked his eyes open and took a deep breath.  The bed was warm and smelled of Vincent and last night's sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is fic about two separate and distinct characters, both portrayed by the same actor, Joe Flanigan. Brendan Dean (Thoughtcrimes) and Vincent (Dawson's Creek)

Brendan snuffled awake, wrapped in a tangle of Vincent's limbs. He lay on his stomach pinned down by Vincent's arm, a leg thrown over his ass. He blinked his eyes open and took a deep breath. The bed was warm and smelled of Vincent and last night's sex. He grinned sappily. God, Vince had virtually left him in a stupor the night before. He could do amazing things with his tongue and Brendan closed his eyes again and tried to picture it, Vince's tongue in his ass, teasing him. Christ, he'd literally begged Vince to fuck him.

He felt a little stirring between his legs in conjunction with his normal morning hard-on and sighed contentedly. Not wanting to wake Vincent, he tried to ease his way out from under all that skin, but Vincent caught him and pulled him even closer.

"Mmm, where y'goin'?"

Brendan turned his head, Vincent lay there one eye half open, sleep tousled, lips parted. Jesus, he was beautiful, Brendan thought. Sex on a plate - my sex on a plate, and that made him smile.

"I'm the one who has to work, remember?" he said fondly.

"'s still er'ly," Vincent mumbled, moving his hand down Brendan's spine, rubbing his thigh back and forth over his ass. "Bet you're hard already." He cracked a smile.

"See for yourself," Brendan said as he drew himself up and rolled over to face him. Taking Vincent's hand, he guided it to his cock.

"Hmm, knew it. Bet you were thinking about last night."

Brendan smiled and smoothed a shock of Vince's hair out of his face. "Jesus, that was good, wasn't it?"

Vincent suddenly looked serious and opened his other eye. "It just gets better and better, Bren," he said, the words like some hidden hand twisting something tight in Brendan's chest.

He just nodded and traced along Vincent's jaw, the stiff hair of his beard prickling against his fingertips. When he got to his chin, Brendan tilted it and leaned in to kiss him, soft and sweet. The hell with morning breath, Brendan suddenly wanted to taste him so badly, and when Vince slung his leg across his hip, dragging him closer, the kiss turned from sweet to salacious, Brendan opening up, welcoming Vince's tongue.

Vincent rolled them, pulling Brendan over on top of him, their morning-hard cocks pressing together, making Brendan moan and suck Vince's tongue harder. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the clock.

"Jesus Christ. Is that the time? Fuck, I'm late!" he cried, practically vaulting out of the bed. Screaming about alarms and Harper and how he was so dead, he rushed to the walk-in closet and reappeared with slacks and shirt over his arm. He threw them on the bed and turned to the dresser.

"It's not that bad, Bren. I mean… you're already late… right?" And Brendan knew that tone. He was not going to turn around, no he wouldn't. But he had to, he had to get dressed. He had to get his ass to work.

He stepped into a clean pair of boxers and turned to the bed for his pants. Vincent was half-sitting, propped against his pillow, his cock tenting the sheet.

"Oh no," he said. "No, no, no. I'm late, Vince. I've got to get…"

His words dried up as Vincent slowly drew the sheet down with his foot, finally kicking it off. "Come on, Bren, just a quick blowjob," he purred, waving his hard dick like a flag. "You know you want to." His eyes gleamed.

God, the man had no shame, Brendan thought, but he couldn't deny Vince's words, evident by his own tented undershorts. A soft groan escaped him as he grabbed for his pants. "I can't, Vince. I just can't." He looked at him through the mirror as he pulled on his shirt. He just sat there with a smug little grin on his face. Smile if you want, you're not getting your way this time. And as Brendan wrapped a tie around his neck, Vince spoke.

"Brendan?"

"No!"

"But, Brendan…"

Dammit. He turned around. "What Vince?"

"It's Saturday." Damn that smile… damn, damn, damn!

"Wha… then, why…" Brendan spluttered. He closed the distance between them and stood looking down at Vincent - that infuriatingly smug and utterly gorgeous bastard! "If you knew, why the hell did you let me get dressed?" he asked, hands resting petulantly on his hips.

Vincent smiled again and reached for him, tugging him down. "So I could un-dress you," he said in that velvet voice, "what else?"


End file.
